Jim Ford is a mountain rescue volunteer. His job is to save people’s lives but this time he is too late. A man dying of exposure survives long enough to whisper two words. GREEN DOVE. Two words that will change Jim’s life forever.

Excerpt:

Fly Away Peter, Fly Away Paula

Paula was beautiful, even in death, and it appeared that Peter would soon be joining her. Very soon, if the agonising pain in his pelvis was anything to go by. It might be a blessing. He had no interest in a life without Paula. But he was going to stay alive for as long as he could, even if it killed him. A joke? Really? He’d always been a stubborn bastard, as Paula was only too happy to point out. He realised he would never hear her utter those words again, and he tenderly wiped away the flakes of snow that had fallen on her pretty face.

He spared a thought for his daughter Sara. He would miss her more than words could say. But, then again, he wouldn’t, would he? He’d be dead. Nothing but a pile of dust scattered to the wind. Or the worms. But she would miss him, he hoped. Or was that selfish of him? It was always worse for those left behind.

He was halfway up a cliff-face with two broken legs, he was sure of that. A broken neck for Paula. Her death had been instantaneous. Another blessing, he supposed. Her lovely blue eyes stared sightlessly up at the cloudless sky, until he gently closed them. Like they did in the movies.

The situation was hopeless. He was too much of a realist not to concede the point. No phones, no ropes, no legs of any use. Just a whistle that he had blown for the hell of it. But there was no one around to hear it. The philosopher in him couldn’t help but wonder: if no one heard it, then, like the falling tree in the deserted forest, perhaps it made no noise. But he’d heard it, hadn’t he? Apparently, he was the only one who did.

Perhaps, when he finally met death face-to-face, his soul would join Paula’s and fly away. A comforting thought. In any case, he needed to stay alive, for now.

He needed the world to know what had happened. Paula had died and so would he, not because of any accident. No, they were leaving their happy lives because they had been murdered.
And the murderer was still out there. Somewhere.

Jim Ford, Private Eye?

Thank God for the mountain rescue service. As he sat in his static caravan (or trailer, as the Americans called it, according to his father), Jim offered up the prayer not because he needed rescuing, but rather because he was one of the rescuers. He volunteered, and it was as well that he did. It kept him sane. The wonderful, down-to-earth people in the mountain rescue team acted as a welcome counterbalance to the erratic behaviour of his old man.

Not that it was his dad’s fault, necessarily. He had dementia, or so he claimed. Although any requests for medical evidence of the condition by Jim had been met with contempt by Jack, his father. Or Rocky, as he now insisted on being called.

Since his retirement as the local vet and the loss of Jim’s mother to cancer, Jack/Rocky had been living in his own make-believe world. Not strictly true, of course. It was indeed a make-believe world, but not his own creation. It was the world of an American 1970’s series called The Rockford Files, starring James Garner. The DVDs of which, Jim had been forced to endlessly watch with his father.

Even the caravan/trailer Jim resided in paid homage to the television show. Right down to the leather sofas and single bed tucked away in the back. It was just a shame the caravan wasn’t sitting next to a beach in Malibu, like Rockford’s. Instead, it was rooted in a field on his father’s smallholding in North Wales, where California-like sunshine was at a premium. Jim reminded himself that he did at least live close to the sea, so it could have been worse.

Jim’s surname was Ford, not Rockford, but it was damn close. Ever since his father’s obsession with all things Rockford had begun, he’d started calling his son ‘Jimmy’, just like the character’s father (Rocky) did.

The buzz of his phone was a welcome distraction from his family problems. An alert had come in from the mountain rescue centre and he was needed there ASAP. It was snowing heavily outside and whatever the emergency was, it wasn’t going to be fun sorting it out. He phoned Simon, one of the old-timers who practically lived at the Centre, to find out what was going on. He decided to skip the formalities.

“Hi, it’s Jim. What’s going on?”

The response was a low chuckle from the other end of the line.

“Well, if it isn’t Wales’s famous private eye,” said Simon, clearly enjoying the moment.

Simon was an old friend of his father’s and a regular visitor to the small farm, so he knew the situation and was always eager to find the funny side.

“Cut the shit, Simon, and tell me what emergency is dragging me out of the caravan at six in the morning.”

“Hey, there’s no need for that. Someone got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

“I’m still in the damn bed, and I’d rather stay here unless it’s a real emergency.”

“Fair enough. A group of teenagers spotted two people stuck on a rocky ledge at Tryfan. One of them has just called it in.”

“When did they spot them?”

“Late last night.”

“Last night? And they’ve only just called it in?”

“Yeah, I know. Irresponsible bastards, but what can you do?”

“Did they give you any idea where this ledge is?” asked Jim, shaking his head at the stupidity of the teenagers, and humanity in general.

“We’ve got some idea, but it’ll take us a while to find them in this snow.”

“I hear what you’re saying.”

“So, are you getting your lazy arse out of bed, or what?” asked Simon.